Surviving World War Z: Story of Emerzo
by SkippingZombie
Summary: Fanfiction on World War Z by Max Brooks. Emerzo's tale of survival. He ends up holed up in an abandoned supply depot with nearly forty people. In the end, he is the one to be thanked for their survival. Feel free to review.
1. Intro

**Surviving World War Z**

**Emerzo Peters- Hero of Fortress Pokk**

INTRO

_A Strange Disease, Our New Home_

Disclaimer- The book World War Z does not belong to me. I am simply writing about the book that I love so much. Max Brooks Rocks!!

TOLD BY:

Emerzo Peters

The only thing I knew about African rabies were the stories I had heard. The government didn't take steps to tell us what we were dealing with until the U.S. defense fell back to the Rocky Mountains. Millions of lives could have been saved if only those stupid pedestal heads had told us what to expect. The government knew how to deal with zombies; they had specialty scientists working on the problem day and night. The only news source that we had was the radio and the television. The television could hardly be trusted however. One channel claimed that the zombies were afraid of fire. The next channel said that they were fireproof.

The radio was a little bit better, as it served as a gateway for the average citizen to tell others what they knew. But we had to be wary of the people who were lying through their teeth just to get attention. They were sometimes worse than the misinformed people on the T.V. in that they were actually trying to do harm.

There were the stations that could be trusted: Radio Free Earth, Wartime News. There were a few lesser stations that civilians set up themselves; my uncle had one of those up and running with his friends.

My point here is simple. Information is what helped us in this struggle, not major technology.

My story starts in my family's car. A new outbreak had occurred in nearby Minnesota. This was the point at which my family decided to evacuate.

We lived in the southeast corner of North Dakota before the war. My father's plan was to move to his brother's cabin about two hundred miles north. We never made it there.

Our plan was to take twenty-nine all the way to Pembina, and then drive the remaining few miles on country roads. His cabin was very close to the Canadian border.

If only it had been that easy. The Interstate was so jammed with vehicles, it would have saved time to walk to Canada. Four hours in, we had only gone thirty miles. Even worse, some of the fleeing people had been infected, and they were beginning to reanimate.

I heard the screams of the dying people and the moans of the fresh zombies long before I saw them. My father was driving, and he was convinced that we could drive away safely. Instead, we were forced to flee our car when the zombies were about two hundred yards away. A semi truck had overturned, blocking all traffic.

We stopped to grab what we thought we could carry. I had a big blue duffel bag and a large black rolling suitcase. My mother and my father tried to bring some food and some water in a big cooler. It took both of them to carry it, and they both also had their suitcases.

We abandoned our car in the middle of the road, serving as yet another blockade for the fleeing people. I darted between several cars, some of which were already abandoned and some of which contained people who were honking angrily.

We headed blindly west, off of the interstate and through some sparse living areas and a couple of gas stations. We must have traveled almost five miles before my mother collapsed from exhaustion. My father told me to get to the bank that was down the street, and that they would catch up.

My parents were overrun with zombies in mere seconds; some of them had been lying in wait behind a neighborhood fence. There wasn't anything that I could have done, so I just kept running. I found it hard to run with tears streaming down my face, but I made it to the edge of the small town. I found myself on a road heading southwest.

If you could imagine my surprise when a familiar face showed up in what appeared to be an armored bus.

Somehow, my classmate Harold had gotten his hands on a bus, and modified it to suit his needs. There were armored plates on most of the bus, and at least thirty people had taken up refuge inside. The entire back half of the bus was stuffed with supplies.

They were heading for a supply depot that had been shut down by the government a few weeks before, due to the owner's inability to pay the bills. Harold and his older brother thought it would be a great place to hole up and wait out the attack that was inevitable.

The drive was eighty miles or so, and I cried the whole way. When we arrived, I stood up and wiped off my tears. I knew that the only way to survive was to move forward, forget the past. I could mourn for my parents at a later time.

When we saw what was to be our new home, some of us were pleased, some downright distraught.

At first, our new home didn't look like much. There were four warehouses full of random boxes that had yet to be cleared out by the government, and about one hundred sq. yards of open fields that were contained within the outer gates. The outer walls were five foot tall brick structures with another three feet of chain link fence jutting from the top. There were also inner walls, just around the warehouses themselves. We would eventually reinforce the twelve foot concrete inner walls with sentries at all times of day.

The bus was quickly unloaded; I counted thirty-eight people, including myself. Most of them hadn't anything along with them; a few had bags or suitcases. The boxes and bags at the back of the bus were quickly unloaded, and I saw that they were mostly full of food and ammunition for the dozens of guns that had been obtained by questionable means. The food itself was packaged in suck a way that it was obvious it had been looted from a grocery store. There were several crates of fruit and nuts, and a whole lot more dried food and packaged foodstuffs. The obvious reasoning behind this was that it would keep longer.

There were other things packaged in the compartments under the bus. Crank radios, toilet paper, knives and forks, pads of writing paper, several blankets, you name it. But the best things we had were the musical instruments. If you know anything about being surrounded by zombies, you'd know that the constant moaning would drive you insane easily. To drown out this noise we had a violin and a guitar, a couple of bugles. Without those, we probably wouldn't have made it more than a few weeks.

Someone had brought potato and corn seeds. God bless his heart. We would need those indefinitely.

The first order of business we attended to was to clear out the eastern warehouse. We stacked the crates along the outer northern and western walls to protect us from the colds winds. One of the crates I helped to carry broke open and several deflated beach balls fell out.

When I asked Harold about this, he told me that his uncle used to work in this place, and that these warehouses belonged to a company that supplied party supplies and random luau knickknacks. I had been hoping to find something useful in some of those crates, but they were mostly useless. The young children weren't disappointed however; they found many ways to keep themselves entertained.

The people that we had brought into the new fortress numbered as follows: There were twelve children younger than ten, eighteen able bodied workers (Ten men and eight women) and seven people retired people over fifty who helped mostly by doing things around the warehouse and looking after the children. One woman was six months pregnant, and hung around the warehouse also.

We had two carpenters, an eye doctor, a nurse, three farmers, a professional hunter, a storyteller, a banker, two office workers, (they had escaped together) a chiropractor, and a web site designer. Four of us were students at high school, including Harold and I.

The warehouse had a second story balcony around the inside, and that is where we set up our blankets and makeshift cots. The area downstairs, now cleared of crates, served as a recreational area. Our carpenters managed to build all sorts of furnishings, using the extra wood from the crates in the other three warehouses. In time we would have wooden rocking chairs and footstools, and couches stuffed with soft things we found in crates.

The first weeks must have been the hardest thing to survive; save for the invasion itself. It would take months of living together before we acted as a family. Our many struggles and defeats, horrors and letdowns are recanted in this story.


	2. Chapter 1, First Week

**Surviving World War Z**

**Emerzo Peters- Hero of Fortress Pokk**

Chapter One

_The Monotony Begins_

Disclaimer- The book World War Z does not belong to me. I am simply writing about the book that I love so much. Max Brooks Rocks!!

TOLD BY:

Emerzo Peters

We hardly accomplished anything more that first day. After we emptied the warehouse, nearly everyone was lying in their bundle of blankets, depressed and miserable. I had vowed to myself earlier that I would never allow myself to be overcome with grief. I spent my first day looking after two seven year-old children, Z'ria and Tom. They were brother and sister fraternal twins, and had been separated from their mother and father during their escape.

They were strikingly different for being twins. Z'ria was up and about, exploring the warehouse with a curiosity she didn't bother to mask, while Tom was trying to keep from bawling. I talked to him for almost two hours before he got up and went exploring with Z'ria and I.

Our company was fortunate enough to have an underground well, so we were set for drinking water. The three of us found several coins around the edge of the open water pump; apparently, the workers had thought it to be a wishing well. Money wasn't of much value around here, but Z'ria hid all of the coins behind a loose brick in the lower level of the Southern warehouse. She would eventually use this space to store all kinds of things she and her twin found. They found a tennis ball, some marbles, a box of thumbtacks, and more random trinkets. It was their private treasure trove.

My private treasure was a metal cigar box that my dad had mistakenly placed in my suitcase. When I first found it, I tucked it away like Z'ria had her coins. I thought of it as a memento of my father. I prayed silently to the hidden box when I felt scared.

I never cried in all the time that I was at our temporary home, but my heart ached every day. I comforted Z'ria and Tom when I wasn't working around the field, and they soon became reliant on me as a friend, a father figure.

Most of those first few days were spent tilling soil, and planting seeds. We knew that winter was six months away, but we would not have enough food if we were holed up for that long. We would have to rely on our stored food and whatever we could scavenge to survive.

On the fourth day, we were suddenly swarmed with zombies. They couldn't get past our fortified outer wall, but somehow they had learned of our presence. Had we been making too much noise?

Many people suggested that we shoot them all, but the doctors in our group all agreed that this was dangerous; we had no means of getting rid of the bodies, and the decomposing flesh could make us all sick from being so close to it. Instead, we made sure the children stayed away from the walls, and to wear ear protection of some sort outside at all times, to muffle the maddening moaning of all the zombies.

The zombies constantly clawed at the brick walls and our stacked crates, but they weren't strong enough to get to us. The people who planted the seeds and worked the fields, including me, were the closest to the zombies and many of us became depressed and moody. One girl recognized one of the zombies as one of her classmates. She was strong, and overcame this in a day. I was really impressed. I couldn't imagine how I would react if I met someone I knew on the other side of that fence.

Her name was Hannah. She was a student from a school that was directly north of my own. She was one of the first people Harold had rescued, along with her grandfather. She and I quickly became friends, and we spent our nights swapping stories about our former lives. Her mother had gone missing as she went out to buy groceries, and Hannah and her grandfather had fled only a few hours later. Hannah still had hope for her mother; she wasn't confirmed dead, at least. When I told her my story, she placed a hand on my shoulder and said she was sorry.

On the morning of the sixth day, one of the large crates along the outer wall fell with a deafening crash. One of the taller and stronger zombies had reached over the chain and brick based fence and shoved it over. One of our sentries that was patrolling shot this threat in the head without thinking. He didn't realize that the zombie still had no hope of climbing over unless it toppled the other crates, which were oblong in such a way that it would take enormous strength to topple the lower level. Our doctors suggested that we burn the body by dumping gasoline on it and the setting it on fire, but we were afraid the crates could catch on fire. Instead, we just replaced the top crate, and then bound the entire top level of crates to the bottom level with lengths of rope so they wouldn't topple again. Regardless, our sentry duty was doubled for about two weeks.

Tom and Z'ria invented a new game that they could play, also on the sixth day. They called it 'Obstacle race.' Basically, they used pieces of wood that they collected from the unused crates to make a long track, and in it they placed hurdles and balance beams. The first person to the end of the course, and then back was the winner. They built this course just outside the southern warehouse, and the course ran about eighty or so yards with several bends and twists. It was built well away from the outer walls, and the voices of the zombies were muffled by our crate barrier.

Hannah suggested that they keep an official record book, and keep track of 'high scores'. Tom had a wristwatch that doubled as a stopwatch, and the four of us partook in many races. Many other children soon joined us, and the game became very popular immediately. The competitors were grouped into age categories, and Hannah was ahead in mine, with me a close second. They also designed several track variations, with a 'high score' for each one.

We made this game as a way of staying sane, with a little healthy competition between us. Tom even wrote a song that was to be played on a guitar before the first game every day. We had to keep the spectators quiet however, cheering couldn't be allowed for fear of attracting any more zombies.

Our first week was spent in denial of our situation.


	3. Chapter 2

**Surviving World War Z**

**Emerzo Peters- Hero of Fortress Pokk**

Chapter Two

_A close call_

Disclaimer- The book World War Z does not belong to me. I am simply writing about the book that I love so much. Max Brooks Rocks!!

TOLD BY:

Emerzo Peters

The accident itself was accredited to Harold's older brother, Tin. But since he was the one who had rescued everyone along with his brother, the people decided to blame it on bad luck.

The sound came on the morning of the eighth day. Most people were still under their covers when Harold appeared abruptly beside me. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes, and looked at him questioningly.

"Come with me, I think we're in a bit of trouble here," Harold pulled me to my feet end guided me down the stairs of the southern warehouse where we currently were. I asked him where we were going, and he turned to me and said "Down."

He showed me a door at the far end of the downstairs area, and opened it quietly. There were some concrete steps leading down into the darkness.

"This is the basement of the warehouse. I think Tin may have knocked gas pipe loose. Help us seal the leak." He pointed to a narrow pipe that was knocked loose from the wall. A barley audible _hsssssss _was coming from this opening, and I saw Tin, ponytail and all standing next to it looking at it curiously.

"There's a bolt missing," He stated simply without looking at me. Then he pointed to the area along the other wall. "You start over there. With the three of us looking, we should be able to find it."

So I got down on my hands and knees looking for the tiny metal object. I found it hard to distinguish anything from the floor because it was covered in thick layers of dirt and dust accumulated over several years of no cleaning. I searched in the crook of the wall where it met the floor with no success, so then I spread out along the center of the floor. The three of us searched for several minutes, until Tin shouted "FOUND IT!"

He stood up, brushed off his pants, and placed the bolt back in its place. It took him a while to screw it in sufficiently, and then the three of us made our way to the stairs.

"Why were you two down here anyway? We don't even use the gas lines, why bother replacing that bolt?"

"Just in case there is a fire or something. We don't want any accidents." Tin said as he slipped on one of the topmost stairs and knocked a chuck of it off. The stone was so old it had begun to deteriorate. The stone skipped down the stairs in a shower of sparks.

"Oh, shit!" Harold grabbed the both of us by the collar, and threw the door shut just in time. An enormous explosion rocked the entire warehouse. It caused a minor earthquake. Not enough to move anything around or knock anything down, but enough to wake the angry people.

"The hell?"

"What was that?"

The three of us ignored the shouts of the people, and slowly opened the door again. Black smoke billowed up from the room below. Tin held his breath, and went back down to examine the damage. He reappeared almost immediately.

"We're safe, the explosion only hit the stairs and the ceiling. The pipes are all intact. There isn't any real damage."

"Thank god! What should we tell the others?" I asked.

"The truth. I'll leave that to Harold." And with that he ran from the warehouse, to who-knows-where.

Harold grumbled and climbed the stairs to the second level, which was occupied by many awake people.

"Hey everyone, I was just checking the basement for any supplies and whatnot, when Tin kind of knocked a pipe loose. Anyway, That explosion didn't hurt anyone or anything, so go back to sleep." Harold then walked back down the stairs and I followed.

"Did you find any supplies?" I asked curiously as the two of us made our way outside, looking for Tin. We could barely make out the low rumble of the zombies past the many crates and the open area.

"Nope, but I found something even better." Harold pulled out a piece of paper that looked very old.

"What is it?"

"It's a treasure map."

"What?"

"Well, more of instructions on where to dig. It's the location of my uncle's secret stash of marbles."

"Marbles?"

"He collected them. And he has a hollow under a rock somewhere around the outer wall where he put them."

"Oh, I see. Are you going to dig for them?"

"Yeah! And then we can do whatever it is you can do with marbles."

"Okay…"

Harold seemed to be a bit more enthusiastic then I was, so I was glad when we found Tin and we could change the subject.

Tin was beating his fist against the inner wall. He turned when saw us and asked:

"How long are we going to be trapped here?"

"I think that isn't a question we should ask. Ever. Let's just concentrate on the here and now. It has only been a week and a day, Tin. We have food for another five or six months if we stay with our current two-meal strategy. And we have planted crops too. We'll be fine."

"I was going to marry her, Harold. How could this happen? My life was supposed to be getting better. And yet here we end up."

Tin was talking about his girlfriend of nine months. He had been planning to propose on her birthday, next Saturday. Tin couldn't have rescued her, she was from farther south, and that was where the zombies had come from. All he had was hope.

"Will the army even save us? What can we do? I don't know if I have it in me, Harold, Emerzo. If you'll give me some time alone…"

"Fine. But don't you dare give up, or I will sucker punch you so hard, you won't be able to stand up straight for a month. C'mon Emerzo." Harold strode away with his hands in his pockets. I took a last look at Tin, who had seated himself with his back against the fence, and then followed suit. After we had walked back to the occupied warehouse, Harold turned to me and said:

"Stay strong mi amigo. It's my gardening shift." He then walked off to gather his equipment for the garden.

I decided that I might as well go hang out with Hannah. I found her talking to Z'ria on the upper level. They eyed me curiously.

"Where were you?"

"Around. How are you holding up?"

"I'll be fine, as long as I have my new friends around." She nudged Z'ria and I. "Where has Tom gone off to?"

"Here I am!" He appeared quickly behind us. "I was looking at the zombies from the roof."

"Tom! Don't do that! You could attract more! We still need to get rid of the ones we have, right Emerzo?"

"Uhh… That would be good, I suppose"

"Tin told me earlier that he was making a plan. Do you know what it is?"

"No?" What plan? I haven't heard anything!

"Neither do I. Who's up for a round of Obstacle Race?"

"We are!" Said Z'ria and Tom at once. They rushed down the stairs.

Hannah turned back to me "Are you coming?"

"Yeah," I said. Everything ought to sort itself out


End file.
